What's A Good Reason To Visit Your Parents?

Why, to watch TO ruin the team of my youth thanks in High Definition. From here on out, you can catch me, and probably P, at my parents on Sunday afternoons. P and my mother will probably sleeping while Dad and I will be dog cussing Jerry Jones and the Cowboys for signing Hitler to a multi-year deal, and all in glorious HD on a 52in plasma.

Eff you Jerry Jones! Hugs and kisses Dish Network........

Mole Jeep 1 : Honda Tard 0

As most of you can tell, I have a very short temper with certain kinds of people. When I drive, this can escalate; I've been known to throw milkshakes. Anyway, I drive with authority. I'm always looking ahead to plot a course as well as looking behind to make sure I'm not holding anyone up. It's the people who are like the two year olds learning to walk that irritate me. You know the type; they're the ones that like a two year old are just happy to be moving. They're not paying attention; they just wander aimlessly, getting in the way of others. The worst of these are the import tuners. They are the ones that buy the 10 year old Hondas, manually cut their stock springs to lower it, and install fiberglass kits and wheels that are worth twice as much as the car itself. If you add in glowing dashboards you too can prove that you are, in fact, Fast and Furious.

Please.

The worst aspect of these people and their pimped out rides, is the fart tube. It's that muffler, with the 3-inch tip that makes any Honda, or Toyota, sound like my ass when I eat ice cream. These people baffle me. I just want to strangle them when they pull up next to me and "rev" that rubber band engine. Look clown, just because you put a wing, and painted wheels on your rice burning piece of shit doesn’t make it faster than when you pulled that thing off the lot. The fact is, you bought a car that is marketed to ignorant kids that have no idea what real power under the hood is.

This leads me to my latest encounter with a Honda Civic, which was "tuned". I was out paying my electric bill, and was pulling out from the utilities company. I crossed over a road and waited for a car that was coming to clear so that I could safely pull out. Unfortunately for me, some poor man's answer to a Britney Spears' back up dancer honks at me. Like I said earlier, I'm a pretty defensive driver, but that's when I'm in the city, not the little sleepy country town that I live. Who the hell is in a hurry here?

For some reason though, I think, "Shit, I need to go", and I start to pull forward. Then as I'm rolling into first gear, the Mole pops in:

Mole: What the fuck are you doing?
Adam: Who me?
Mole: Yes roach clip. Why are you pulling forward for this clown?
Adam: Well, he honked.
Mole: Look man, we've already had this discussion once.
Adam: Be Steve?
Mole: If I weren't you, I'd kick you in the nuts, you're so stupid.

So, fuck it, I stop. However, just like a two year old learning to walk, this guy never notices that something is in front of him and he runs into me. Am I mad, am I hurt, hell no. I'm a in a Jeep, and these things are built to be turned over, plus my bumper is made of steel. That's right real "merican" steel. So with a grin half cocked, I throw the parking break on, and get out.

Honda Douche: Dude, you don't have any damage.
Mole: I know, I'm just admiring my new paint.
HD: What?
Mole: Nothing, are you OK?
HD: Yeah dude we're fine. (HiZ GuRl WuZ WiT DaT DuDe)
Mole: Does your muffler still work?
HD: My what?
Mole: Your Fart Tube!
HD: *sighs* Yes?
Mole: Too bad. Look man, pay attention next time, or buy a car that isn't made by Fisher Price.

So, shaking my head and laughing, I get in, and pull away.


Maybe one day he'll have a big boy car too!

Mongo BAD, Do BAD BAD Things

Though this happened earlier this year, the Ohio Universtiy football player that was accused of punching a police horse plead no contest, and was fined $100.

I wonder if the police horse got cards and gifts????

My Partner

I lost my partner on Tuesday.

There are a lot of people you run across in life. Some are intellectuals, some are athletes, some are followers, some are leaders, and some are assholes. David Gann was all of those traits, and knew when to utilize each of them to get through any situation. As an intellectual, he constantly kept his nose in his rulebook. He studied, read, and went to classes, so that he would know his craft inside and out. As an athlete, he took pride in his ability to work in conditions that most would find unbearable. In the hot Texas heat, this man would don long navy pants, shin guards, chest protectors, a facemask, steel plated shoes, and a wool hat. He would call games that would seemingly last forever, for teams that were rarely grateful of his presence; just because he loved being around the competition. As a follower, he knew when to shut up and listen. He knew that when certain people told him things he needed to improve on, he'd do it. There would be no questions, he wouldn't roll his eyes and wait for that person to leave so he could go back to the way HE wanted to do it. He would correct his mistake; he would become a better official. As a leader, he would take other younger officials under his wing and tutor them. He would take a role that others took with him so that if they wanted to, the officials he worked with could become better at what they did. And, as an asshole, he knew when to draw the line. He knew when it was time to pull the trigger, and he knew when to say enough was enough. His games never got out of hand.

David and I met 5 years ago when we both joined the Greenville High School fast-pitch softball chapter. We both excelled at the sport, and quickly rose up through the ranks of not only our local association, but also within the ranks of the State ASA organization. Whenever there was a tournament, we rode together. When we called championship play, we always managed to get the same assignment both at the State and National level. And when we went to these tourneys, we showed the world what kind of good young umpires were coming to ASA.

Two weeks ago, I called my last tournament with David at an ASA National, because Tuesday he was killed at work. My competition is gone. The man who personally pushed me to be a better umpire is gone. The reason why I continue to ref football this season is gone. Had it not been for him and our 3rd running buddy, I was going to hang up my stripes. As it stands, I've ventured off on my own with a new varsity crew, and me helming the Referee position. I would have never done that had it not been for him.

Though officiating is a hobby of sorts, I'm a professional. There are very few of us at this level that act in that manner when it comes to officiating, but David was one as well. It's a thankless job we do, and now that he’s gone, I'll never have the chance to thank him for how he pushed me to be the best that I can be. It just seemed like yesterday when we were making plans to try out for a college rotation this fall. I guess I’ll be going by myself.

David Gann was a husband, a father, an official, and a friend.

I'll miss you bud, but I'll never forget you.

I'm Trying This New Fad Called Jogging. I Believe It's Jogging or Yogging, it Might be a Soft J.

So the past few months I've had a continued effort to lose weight. Back in March my Doctor flat told me, "Adam, you're too fat". Now, I didn't hold it against him because he's eastern European, and really doesn't know the language well enough to sugar coat anything. But, I did take his message to heart since I don't want to be on blood pressure medication before I'm 30, and I started back into a work out and diet regime. It's been a struggle over the past month with everything that's been going on in my life but today I got back on my mountain bike. I've got a little 8-mile ride down mostly dirt roads and I learned one thing today. When you're 4+ miles into your ride, and you catch a whiff of rotting Longhorn flesh, it'll make you want to throw up.

Tomorrow I’ll run instead of ride.

Mole Goes To A Gay Bar

Ok, so the posts have been sparse lately but I've been busy. I've officially added a new member to my Clan in P, and basically went to Mexico to call a fast pitch softball 16u National Championship tournament; which by the way, I got the plate assignment in the championship game. Anyway, I've been sitting on an experience for nearly a year now that I had with Buddy 1 from the Grape Snow Cones entry. Long story short, I went to a gay bar.

It all started on a cool weekend back in November. I was in McKinney Texas calling a college showcase tournament. These are huge tournaments in which teams from all over the Nation come in and play meaningless games so that scouting agencies and coaches have a chance to see a bunch of players in one setting. I worked with guys that call Big 12, hell, there was even a guy there that worked the plate in the championship game of the World Cup of Softball last month, so it was a cool environment. After the Saturday games were over two other umpires and I were looking for a place to drink. Unfortunately the bar scene in McKinney isn't exactly "hapnin" so everyone went home. For me though, home was not an option, because I was on a mission to drink malted hops, and I'll be damned if I wasn't. So, I start driving toward downtown stinking like asparagus and febreze. I call up Buddy 1 who will be known hence forth as The Devil:

TD: Mole! My friends suck.
M: What?
TD: Mole, I'm stuck at a party with some old chick, and these people are dinking wine while a group of fags are in the corner playing foosball.

There aren't too many times in my life that I'm speechless, but I was at a loss of words while my imagination tried to conjure this image.

TD: Dude, I've got to get out of here and my friends either won't answer the phone, or they're too stoned to come get me.
M: Don't worry man; I'm heading your way.
TD: Really?
M: Yeah man, I'm driving down 75, butt naked, but I'll be there in 20 clothed. (You get good at changing clothes in the car when you're an official)
TD: Sweet, I'm off Greenville Ave.
M: Alright, I'll call when I exit Mockingbird, so have someone reasonably sober close to give me directions.

When I finally pull up, TD meets me on the sidewalk and ushers me into another world it seems. I walk up on a scene of some chick hanging upside down from the back porch rafters by her knees, her big fake cans ready to pop out, a group of pseudo intellectuals dressed in clothes I can only assume cost more than the gross national product of Haiti. Not only that, they're talking about such enriching topics like the new Herbie Movie and if the more curvy Lohan, is better looking that coked out version, and of course, a group of gay men in the corner of the yard playing foosball. Me, I'm in flips flops, Levis, a white T-Shirt and my new Budweiser red camo hat bought at the Nextel Cup race from the previous weekend. Thankfully, these people offer me a beer. While I'm polishing it off, I find the "wearing the tight shirt but I have a gut” guy showing off his new iPod as if he's the cave man in 2001: A Space Odyssey discovering a bone can be used as blunt object of destruction. Damn, I wish he would have grunted. Anyway, I'm introduced to everyone, brave their witty conversation, and generally try to be as contradictory and snide as possible, all while sporting an extra thick east Texas accent. The thing about THESE Dallas types is their blatant lack of respect for anyone that lives within a few miles of a sale barn. They look at me and see bumpkin, I look at them and see my verbal fist crushing their skull.

After TD and I mange to piss of the straight people and drink the rest of their beer, it's time to boogie to a bar. As we're walking out the old rafter chick comes running. We say we’re off to a bar, but she has a friend John that is about to meet her, and he wants us to come with him. John pulls up and I'm introduced:

TD: Mole, this is John, he's a fag.

Hi John.
John explains that we're going to this bar called S4, so have Julie follow him. He leaves and TD explains to me that S4 is a gay bar. Now, I'm not as apprehensive to this idea as say, Joe Lieberman being used as target practice for Mel Gibson’s personal gun range, but the idea of going to a gay bar is not that appealing. However, since neither of us are in any shape to drive, and I want more alcohol, I decide “it'll be alright, I'll just chill on a bar stool and drink a beer, right”? This is not the case however. We wind up in the Oak Lawn district of Dallas, the gay district of course, and follow John to the doors. It seems like it takes 15 minutes to get in, and the people in line are crazy, but not over effeminate. I'm feeling comfortable, *it'll be ok Mole*. As I near the doors to this place, the thump of trashy techno gets louder, the voices get more high-pitches, and the "product" necessary to make hair do the things I saw would make Günter & The Sunshine Girls sick.

We pay to get in and, for me; I'm bearing witness to something that is like a cross between the club parts of the movie 54, and the orgy scene in Summer of Sam. Seriously, I felt like Ricky Bobby when he said, “I’m gettin' kinda dizzy....from all the...gayness." It was weird, drinks were in order, and since the buzz was wearing off from the wait in line, they were needed FAST. So, as John goes off to play, Julie, TD, and I go upstairs to the less crowded bar. So if being downstairs was like being in 70's sex hell, upstairs was.......was.......was, something that will be saved for later, I'm sick of writing now.

Problem Solving

As many of you know, the human brain is a problem solving powerhouse. From early times when we figured out how to create fire, to more recently when we put men in space and learned to split the atom.

Some people though should never be allowed to problem solve because they're stupid. Thankful we won't have this Brazilian man spreading his "seed" of stupidity any further after he died trying to open a grenade with sledgehammer.